


Ink Stained

by lluviadinoche



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gift Fic, M/M, spamano - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 05:06:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14181387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lluviadinoche/pseuds/lluviadinoche
Summary: Ambitious and power-hungry writer, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo has built himself an empire that touches the stars and has nearly reached the top. The only factor keeping him from doing so is Lorenzo Vargas, a stubborn critic who happens to abhor his writing with the promise of never giving him a good review. {for Tonio}





	Ink Stained

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowrivertonio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowrivertonio/gifts).



> gift fic for Tonio :) Happy Easter!

_ He hated the man. In all his years of living, he had never met anyone more infuriating. The cocky behavior and entitled personality threw Alfonso into a fit of rage and hatred. He hated the man. He could have burned and he would not have been able to care any less.  _

_ Glaring his way, Alfonso huffed and moved past him harshly. One day he would defeat him and see that terrible smirk wipe off of his face. _

_ Once they had been friends.  _

_ ‘Until God sees fit!’ they would chant whenever they had to part to go home as a joke. They imagined they would be brave knights or fighters who would fight side by side and rescue damsels. They pretended to be leaving for months though they knew they would meet the next day. _

_ They did become fighters; they just didn’t fight side by side. _

* * *

 

His fame was something he had not expected at first. It was a surprise when his simple story of a murderer waking up with amnesia on the day of his trial became something that was highly praised and sought after. His eyes had lit up as he sat there watching the little numbers indicating his balance growing larger and larger with each passing day. He had been some dumb kid wanting to share everything on his mind. To find his ideas adored by the public and eaten up like chips stunned him and turned his insecurities into pride.

Antonio took much pride in his capabilities as a writer. He had good reason to. After all, he had published his first novel at sixteen and soared from there. He stole the spotlight from everyone who had come before him. Yes, it made him a bit egotistical, but he relished in it. Did he not have every right to find satisfaction in all that he did?

He won the praise from every person who came his way and his name filled billboards. Nearly every big name critic who read his books and searched for error found themselves defeated and succumbed to the same praise the rest of the world granted him.

Keyword:  _ nearly _

Alas, through the ocean of praise and the wondrous piles of adoration that scattered beneath his feet lay one critic in particular who Antonio could not convert despite all of his attempts.

_ Lorenzo Vargas _

Lorenzo.

Lorenzo….

The name felt so bitter on his tongue and stung his eyes during those late nights he refreshed his page over and over again in search of that wicked name, hoping, pleading, praying for a review of positive light.

Yet—it was the same evil poison that haunted his dreams.

_ “Weak, forced, clumsy. Fernandez has shown once again that his years of work have gone to waste.” _

_ “Awful. Predictable. I’m sure Shakespeare was less predictable in Romeo and Juliet.” _

_ “Repetitive and rushed. Too many loose ends were left. I would not use this book to wipe myself” _

_ “The science made no sense and the romance was pushed far too much.” _

_ “Honestly, I liked this one. It will make a good door stop. Absolute rubbish. The fourth Shrek movie was more original than this junk.” _

Review after review, book after book, he was still left bitter as he stared at the screen. Even now, he glared ahead at the email he had received in subject of his latest short story that he wrote.

_ Fernandez, _

_ I am unsure why you are still attempting to bargain. Have I not made it clear that I despise your writing? You lack originality and your work is boring. The things you write are far too predictable and the realism you claim to deliver is nowhere to be found. Do you honestly wish to tell me that Claire is completely fine after the loss of Gianluca, her best friend? Do you wish to tell me that this girl who you have made clear to have had issues with emotions and the inability to hold them back did not find herself victim to worst kind of misery at the loss of her best friend? You are a token writer. You are adored for no reason other than fancy words and a few pretentious lines. Oh, and the fact that you wrote one good story at your start.  _

_ Stop sending me emails. I will never give you a good review. Return to your writing and growing grey hairs rather than pestering me with these snippets of garbage that you continuously send me. You have potential, I have stated this in every email. However, your issue is simple. _

_ You hate to fail. _

_ The fault is not mine; it is only yours. Why is it that grown men fear failure so much? Is it the thought of losing masculinity for not creating what the public desires? I suppose I shall never know unless you tell me. _

_ Should you ever come up with an original story without a single fear of failing, do email me. However, considering your reputation as a pompous old man with a hard head, I doubt that will occur. _

_ \- Lorenzo R. Vargas _

 

He hated him. Antonio loathed the man more than he loathed anyone else. Slamming his laptop shut, he scoffed and glared at the website once more.

“God is testing me,” he muttered, rolling his chair around and staring at his pet turtle. She stared blankly at him before disappearing into the water.

“Thanks, I appreciate your support,” he chuckled, standing up.

Over time, his rivalry with Lorenzo had become something that many laughed at. Though adored, they found great amusement in Antonio’s attempts to please the man with every book. There was no doubt that this charming author spent his days curled in front of his laptop in hopes of reloading that damned page and finding a review he liked.

He wasn’t sure why the entire thing was so important to him. He had never cared about what others thought. After all, he had built his empire up as a teenager and had won all the success a man could ever desire. Yet—he still desired to make this one critic love him. Antonio craved that power—that satisfaction and he promised himself that he would tame that stallion if it took him the rest of his life.

Tugging at his hair wearily, he made his way to the kitchen to grab his keys. This called for a rant.

* * *

 

“I don’t get it! The stubborn brat won’t give me a good review. He called me unrealistic. The point wasn’t that she was suddenly healed and accepted the death of her friend, it was just that it had caused her last column to crumble leaving her unable to process any emotions at all,” Antonio cried out in disdain, “I want to strangle him. How can someone be so stubborn?”

“Kinky,” Francis said, a smirk growing on his lips. Sighing, he placed his drink down, “Toni, my dear friend, don’t you think that you are dwelling far too much on the thought of getting him to like your writing that you are ignoring the countless people who praise you and desire to write like you?”

The man grumbled, refusing to accept his defeat from  _ both _ his friend and his nemesis, “But Francis!,” he whined, “I’ve never gotten someone who hates me as much as he does!”

“Well, consider this your first hater on your route to fame. Now, do you have a draft I need to review or did you simply disturb my peace and calm afternoon to cry to me about your woes all due to a horrible monster named Lorenzo? The articles are already talking about your rivalry, you know. I don’t understand why you’re letting a cocky blogger ruin you.”

Antonio folded his arms and mumbled something under his breath as he plopped down on the leather couch with a frustrated look. Francis could only roll his eyes and shake his head, praying that God strikes some sense into the man.

“I’ve got it,” Antonio cried out, leaping up from his seat, “I’ll email him several different stories from various aliases and see if he really hates my writing or just finds amusement in criticizing me.”

He found himself on the floor, his cheek stinging lightly. Francis glared at him from above, a fly swatter in hand. Those warm blue eyes that always held love carried irritation; it did not suit him.

“Antoine, if you continue this endeavor, I will not speak to you until it ends. Relax. He is but one critic amongst many who adore you. What makes him so special that you must bend backward to appeal to him?”

He couldn’t meet his eyes any longer, he simply could not find it in him to accept his useless battle, “I dunno. I just want that satisfaction, you know? There’s no point, I know, but I crave it. I crave that power for no reason explicable. I don’t even know what I’ll do when I get it and then there’s just nothing left for me to challenge. Maybe it’s just the challenge. But I really don’t know. I just want that power.”

Arms embraced him despite him not being upset in the slightest. Glancing up, soft blonde locks gently brushed his face and the sweet smell of sugary treats that always seemed to surround Francis greeted him with open arms. Though he said nothing, he knew what he was thinking, he knew every word that was running through his head as he held him there.

_ Oh Antoine, when will stop grasping at straws to build an empire that you already have? When will you learn when enough is enough? Dear Antonio, when will you finally be satisfied? _

If he could have given an answer he would have, but he couldn’t find one. He constantly strived to be better because he knew that he could be better and he knew that was he was working on, though his current best, was not the best that he could do and nothing caused him more grievance or anxiety.

With a heavy sigh, he returned the embrace, unsure of what else to do. He knew how his friends and family all felt about his constant challenge to get Lorenzo Vargas to appreciate something that he created.

For now, he would continue in secret. Then when he succeeded and Lorenzo the Stubborn finally fell to his power, then would Antonio grace by his doubters and show them his praise with the greatest smirk possible and the most pompous of attitudes. He’d show them. Antonio would win Lorenzo’s praise and then would he finally put the finishing jewel on his empire.

* * *

 

“This is garbage,” he said bitterly, sipping his coffee. Tearing the short story he held in half, Lorenzo moved away from the printer, “What a waste of my time.”

He was met with a scoff, “Is there anything you don’t think is garbage?”

“Of course,” Lorenzo replied, taking another sip, “Good di-”

“Pretend I never asked,” he was interrupted, a scrunched expression meeting his amused one.

Propped on his couch, Gilbert’s disgusted expression remained. If he could have gone paler, he would have. His sunglasses hid the horror in his eyes. Often, he questioned his position as Lorenzo’s friend and what led them to moments such as this.

Hazel eyes flickering to the screen once again, they narrowed before rolling, once again not impressed by what he was given to look at. Dropping his cigarette in the ashbox, Lorenzo turned to Gilbert with a frustrated look borne on his face, “Garbage I tell you. He’s too desperate to win my approval.”

“And you aren’t desperate,” the other asked.

“No. Lovino-er Lorenzo Vargas is not desperate,” he said before glancing at the screen once again unimpressed, “and if I was, I wouldn’t be as desperate as this man. How stupid does he think I am?”

_ Send _

Hopefully, that old man got the memo and would quit irritating him with horrible things to read that only wasted his time day after day.

Gilbert shrugged, standing up and shaking his head in mock disappointment, “Why must you hate my idol? I was reading something about you guys yesterday, people are wondering if you actually dislike his books or just have some petty grudge against him.”

Lorenzo met his eyes, a stone expression on his face even as he flipped the man off, “Your idol has no idea how to write. It’s as simple as that”

* * *

 

“Mierda!”

A book went flying across the room and smacked against the wall, bringing a picture down with it. Glass shattered and pillows were tossed. Angry curses flew through the air and Antonio sat there, screaming as he took the steak knife that he had next to him and threw it straight at the wall where a picture of Lorenzo Vargas hung. Though meant to motivate him to write better, all it did now was fill his blood with venom.

“You little fucker,” he screamed as it hit it before slumping down on his couch.

He had tried, he truly had. He had fought vigorously for that jewel and just when he had thought he could feel it in his hands, he tumbled down the mountain and was left to climb once again.

_ Weak and rushed. It seems you are attempting to imitate Fernandez. Please, do not drop yourself to such a tragic level. _

_ Your characters are flat and your grasp on how much pain a human can handle is little to be admired. _

_ This made me cry tears of joy—as I lit it on fire to cook my dinner. _

The stupid, vile, stubborn, malevolent little demon was driving him insane. It had been four months. Four months of non-stop writing in hopes of providing that demonic little critic with something that he would enjoy. Yet, he still ended up with the same results that turned him bitter.

However, it was the email that he had just received which turned him into a monster with no patience. It was the fact that the demon dared send such a sarcastic thing.

_ Subject: I know this is you, Fernandez _

_ Blocked :) _

He blocked him! And he had a feeling that if he tried to send another from email address, he would only get blocked once again.

Bitter and grumbling, he dropped himself onto his couch, clutching the fuzzy pillow close in hopes that it would somehow provide him with relief from all of his stress. He screamed, kicking his legs and really only making himself look like a toddler in the process.

“Lo odio lo odio lo odio lo odio lo odio lo odiOOO!”

He gave up. Antonio gave up. This empire he set up and the successes that he had built his pride upon—despite how much work he had put into it—it no longer mattered. He gave up. He did.

That crowning jewel to place on top of his piles of riches was too far out of reach and Antonio was tired. He did not like constantly chasing after the impossible and it seemed that he was doing just that with the elaborate chase for a review that did not matter. He had his standing empire, did he not? The last thing that he currently needed was to become absorbed with the impossible and lose himself and his passion in the process.

Yet, he still couldn’t help but let the awful feeling of defeat gnaw at him. He had failed.

He failed.

That gem—that beautiful gem that was so close was far too out of his reach. It seemed that in his fight, he miscalculated his launch to the stars.

Kicking the broken vase next to him limply, Antonio stood up, muttering under his breath as he went to grab the broom.

_ Lorenzo Vargas _

A single man had brought his empire crumbling.

* * *

 

_ “You’re an idiot! All you care about is glory. Do you expect me not to put up a fight when you hurt anyone to get what you want,” cried Fernando, “I adored you once, but your own pride has led you to this!” _

_ As much as Alfonso knew it to be true, he refused to accept such a harsh truth, “And that excuses leaving everyone who has held faith in you for the enemy?” _

_ Fernando’s eyes softened before closing, pain held in them, “Oh Alfonso. As long as you lead this side with that pride and ambition, you are the enemy.” _

* * *

 

_ Fernandez started out with gold to his name and a talent that expressed it. However, his books have lost their quality and enchantment found back then. It’s forced. The sad truth is that Fernandez lit his match and let it burn too fast. Whether his quality continues or declines is yet to be determined. _

Antonio had to choke back a sob. That was the third negative critic in a week. Gripping his hair, he sniffed, Francis, rubbing circles on his back to comfort his friend whose worst nightmare had come true.

With the loss of another pillar to his kingdom, Antonio Fernandez’s empire was falling.

“Please don’t let this discourage you,” Francis said, his voice feathery and concerned.

Antonio laughed lightly, choking on his own tears, “Vargas was right, I really am no good. I worked so hard on the big picture I forgot the details. Now I suffer.”

“Stop that,” Francis demanded, “Stop it now. You are talented Antonio. You worked hard to get your first book published. You worked hard to get here. Do not let yourself feel bad because you have lost some support. It’s okay. Focus on the next book, not this one. You cannot change what has happened but you can change what will.”

Clinging to Francis, he nodded, his tears slowing and his shaky breaths slowly faltering. Francis looked at the one window left open on Antonio’s laptop.

“My empire has crumbled,” Antonio whined.

Francis, pushing his hair back, shook his head, “On the contrary, I think it is maturing. People will always have a reason to be negative. You will always have a few people who loathe you for what you do. But my dear friend, if you spend so long staring at the forest, you will lose sight of the trees,” he said, “Don’t let these people hurt you for what they say. Remember who you are and those fans who love reading what you write. If you lose hope, they lose you.”

Antonio nodded, but still, in the deepest parts of his heart, he knew that even if he produced a wonderful book next, he still had burned his kingdom far too much to ever return to what it was. Even if one day he magically obtained Lorenzo’s praise, he had let his walls and strength fall. Even if he did, Lorenzo, his wonderful gem that he strived to reach for, would be nothing more but a simple jewel among the rubble.

He won.

Lorenzo won. Antonio gave up. His empire was built on fans who knew no better. But now that they matured, he was sure that there was no way his fame and glory would last long. At least, not with the way that he was working where he could spit on the ground and it would have been called wonderful.

He gave up. Antonio decided it was time to write because he wanted to, not because others demanded it or because he was attempting to beat out the competition. After writing for all of the wrong reasons and losing his motivation because of his ambition to reach the top, he finally wanted nothing else but to mellow down and write the things that he liked because he could.

And Lorenzo Vargas?

He’d keep writing just for the hell of it. He was the one challenge he would keep. But this time, it was because Antonio wanted to have fun.

And annoy the hell out of him.

Looking out the window, he stared at nothing in particular. His eyes just gazed sadly down at the raindrops that moved slowly along the glass and the small rose bush out there that swayed gently with the wind.

He began to wonder just how much damage his pride was doing to him. Yes, medals and trinkets of his fame looked wonderful on his wall and when he searched up his name online. However, if he were to be completely honest, happiness would look much better.

Bringing his head back so that it was buried in the comfort of his friend’s chest, he smiled slightly and sighed. It was alright. From now on, he was going to write the way he was meant to write.

“I’m going to write that story I’ve been holding off on.”

* * *

 

Lorenzo walked into the cafe, Gilbert by his side. Meaningless conversations floated through the air, theirs adding to them.

“I think the man finally gave up, I haven’t heard a word from him in nearly two months. That’s a record,” he said as they stepped in line. 

Gilbert shook his head, “I think you killed him with your harshness. Would it kill you to give a review for his first book at least?”

With a small, irritated huff, Lorenzo nodded, “Yes, it would. I like bringing that idiot down a peg. He thinks he’s so great but nobody even knows what he looks like. Probably some old man who collects World War II figures in his basement and thinks that exercise fixes everything.”

Gilbert snorted, white wisps of hair falling his face and his sunglasses nearly falling off, “Well I like him. That book he wrote about the girl who went legally blind is my favorite.”

Lorenzo didn’t dare make another comment. As much as he despised Fernandez with every fiber in his being, he would never criticize his friend for a book that meant so much to him. Especially when the book had a character that he could relate to.

“That one was decent. He had good representation, I’ll give him that. But his description and dialogue—they are shit,” he mumbled.

Gilbert smiled faintly, holding onto Lorenzo’s arm as they went up. Suddenly, they came to an abrupt stop and he winced, feeling Lorenzo’s nails digging into his arm, “Ow! Lov-Lorenzo, you shit! What the hell?”

“Shut up, you whore. I’m being gay,” he snapped, gazing straight ahead at a table hidden in the corner amongst the studying college students and shy couples.

There, sitting against the wall was a man who was by no means dressed impressively. In fact, he was dressed a lot like a middle-aged dad despite looking no older than twenty-eight.

“That guy over there is really hot and clearly gay as fuck,” he stated, “And single.”

Gilbert raised his brow, “And you know this how?”

Lorenzo scoffed and jerked his arm, “Look at his clothes. No partner that loves a good-looking man like him enough would let him wear such ugly shit. Also, he just screams gay. Look at that face!”

Gilbert was clearly skeptical.

“And he literally has the pride flag on his laptop,” Lorenzo added. Gazing over at him, he bit his lip. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through those gorgeous chocolate curls, “Ten bucks and a week’s coffee says I’ll get his number.”

A nails-on-chalkboard-laugh broke through the air, “Oh, you’re on, short ass. I dare you to get his number.”

Sticking his tongue out at his doubtful friend, Lorenzo fixed his hair and made his way over, completely forgetting about the fact that he had been in the process of buying some coffee. As confident as his posture and smile made him seem, Lorenzo was shaking inside. The last thing he needed was to embarrass himself in front of a cute guy.

Gilbert followed behind curiously and watched as Lorenzo put his hands on the other seat at the man’s table.

“Hey there,” he said in a sultry tone, “What’s a cute guy like you doing hiding away in a cafe?”

The man’s face began to burn bright red. Score. Lorenzo bit his lip and tilted his head a bit, his gaze falling down to the table, “I saw you from across the room. I have to say, you’re kinda cute.”

Kinda? Lorenzo was practically drooling over this man. His sun-kissed skin was like honey and ‘Renzo wanted a taste. Those big forest green eyes that stared down at him were mesmerizing. Gazing at him, he had to hold in a giggle because he was absolutely giddy.

“So, is there a number I could get from a good-looking guy like you,” he asked. Oh yeah, there was absolutely nothing was going to stop him now. This guy was in his hands and Lorenzo could already feel his lips against his. As desperate as it did make him seem, he didn’t quite care at the moment. He was on—

“Aren’t you Lorenzo Vargas? The famous critic who told me that he wouldn’t even wipe his ass with my book?” The poor man was bright red, wide-eyed, and absolutely confused.

He was frozen.

No.

This guy? This really cute and sweet looking guy?

_ This  _ was Fernandez?

A loud laugh broke the awkward silence and he turned, glaring at Gilbert who was choking from behind.

“Oh my-,” he snorted, “Puahaha! You’re so desperate you went for the one man you hate the most!”

He was speechless, embarrassed, and oh so angry. Standing up, he pointed at him with a shaky finger. His face burned red with fury and words that refused to come out at first poured out all at once, “ _ You stupid asshole! _ No! This is not fair! I come here thinking I might have found a cute guy, but no! He ends up being the asshole who emails me like a fucking telemarketer about his crappy stories! This is not fair! You are not allowed to be this hot! This is illegal!”

While the rest of the cafe stared in confusion and concern at the man throwing a fit, Antonio covered his mouth to hold back laughter.

“Stop laughing, you ass,” Lorenzo screeched, absolutely horrified.

Antonio couldn’t help it, he closed his laptop and kept laughing, clutching his gut. This was the funniest thing that had ever happened in his life, “Lo siento! Lo siento. It’s just, I didn’t think you’d flirt with me of all people and your reaction is kinda cute.”

_ That prick _ .

Lorenzo growled and looked ready to hit him, but instead, he slumped into his seat, “I cannot believe you’re the idiot who doesn’t know how to write properly.”

Antonio laughed softly, “Well if it’s any compensation, I’ll admit I have been writing crap stuff lately. It’s why I’m actually trying with this book.”

Raising a brow, Lorenzo sat up straight and rolled his eyes, “Oh really? And let me guess, you’re gonna send me another autographed copy?”

Suddenly, the sweet and warm look in Antonio’s eyes washed away, replaced by a challenging look that sent shivers down Lorenzo’s spine. Those green eyes went to slits and his deep laugh left the poor critic in shock once again, “Of course. Just because I have accepted that my empire has fallen doesn’t mean I won’t pick it up piece by piece and make sure  _ your  _ praise is the jewel on top.”

Still keeping up his facade, Lorenzo huffed, “Good luck with that. You’ll never get a good review from me.”

Antonio stood up, handing Lorenzo his napkin with a slight smirk on his face, “I already got you to flirt with me without doing a thing. I might be able to get at least a positive remark out of you. Well, I have to go, caro. See you around.”

He sat there dumbstruck, his traitorous heart beating fast against his chest. The poor Italian was breathing like an asthmatic walrus. How on Earth could someone so idiotic and terrible at writing be so gorgeous and make his knees wobble the way they did? What had he done to deserve such a fate? It was cruel. 

Gilbert made his way over, sitting where that  _ demon _ had sat. Though, his pathetically cocky grin was not much a comfort at the moment. Covering his face, he tuned himself out. The absolute last thing that Lore desired was to hear him ramble about how absolutely right he had been about liking Fernandez one way or another. The bitter truth stung and he refused to accept it, much more preferring allowing it to fade away and never return. Even as he tugged his hair, the shame of the moment sunk in.

Then he remembered the napkin. Hands floating down while his face bore a terrified expression. Hazel flickering down to the napkin, his mouth dropped as if his jaw had broken in that moment. No. This was not real. Looking up at the smirking Gilbert with wiggling eyebrows, he attempted to speak, a hoarse croak being the only sound his body dared allowed him to make.

_ Call me _

Staring at the number, another croak—though this one was higher pitched—erupted from him as his face turned and folded into the most disgusted and conflicted expression ever seen. Contorted into the image of displeasure, his face slammed onto the coffee table.

“So, are you gonna call the guy?”

“Fuck off.”

* * *

 

_ “Do you remember when we were kids and we swam in the river, promising never to hurt the other?” _

_ “Of course I do, Alfonso.” _

_ He glanced at him, a pained expression on his face as he sat on the rotting wood floor, “What happened?” _

_ “Ambition happened. Life happened. We grew up, Alfonso. That’s just how the world works,” he stated, sitting on the opposite side of the room. _

_ Alfonso met his eyes and the world seemed to crumble, “I do not want to kill you.” _

_ “....nor I.” _

* * *

 

“I think I’m in love with the person who hates me the most,” he said, laying there with a blank expression. Green eyes burned into the white ceiling, staring far up to nothing in particular. Vibrant eyes questioning his feelings and the fact that he had acted so impulsively.

“Really now,” Francis asked, snapping pictures from Antonio’s balcony, “Do tell.”

Flopping over, Antonio scowled for a moment before whining and looking up at Francis, eyes wide and pleading for an affection to be returned, “You should have seen it, Francis. I didn’t recognize him at first and I was so mesmerized. He has these eyes that just hypnotize you and this voice that washes over you like honey or milk. His movements are so delicate, enticing, but bold and daring! When he looked at me, I lost all of my senses. There was just him—smiling at me like that. Oh Francis, I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone. His passion, his embarrassment, and the fact that he has this weird power over me. That beautiful beautiful smile to kiss—I want him so much.”

Falling back down, he sighed bitterly, “He hasn’t called either. It’s been two weeks. I thought that maybe if I flirted back a little bit, he’d forget he hated me and call. But he hasn’t and Francis! I’m so miserable. I want to hold him so bad.”

Francis paused and put his camera down, “It seems you have caught quite the bold case of Cupid’s Arrow. You only met the man once. What if he doesn’t end up what you like? What if you find out he genuinely wants nothing to do with you?”

Reality hurt. It hurt very much and Antonio did not want to think about it at all anymore. It reminded him far too much of the fact that Lorenzo was out of his reach and now he wanted him more than anything. This time not as a target of success but adoration.

“I want to hold him in my arms, Francis,” he confessed, “I want to see that smile when I wake up in the morning and kiss those soft lips just because I can.”

Listening, the Frenchman nodded, putting on his glasses and dropping on the couch right above Antonio so that he could listen to him mope from right there, “Well, if it has been two weeks, you may want to begin a new search. I apologize, Antonio, but I do not want to fill you with hopes for something that most likely may not occur at all.”

He understood. He understood well. And even after Francis left, he knew. He knew that he was raising up his hopes far too much and would end up damaging himself. He knew. Yet, as he pulled his hair and told himself to get back to writing rather than focusing on him, all he saw was that devious little smirk and those hazel eyes gazing up at him with utmost interest. He heard his voice and his praise. It soaked into his mind and he knew that it would not go away. Infatuation, perhaps. Antonio had a terrible record for it. Yet still, in those moments he thought of Lorenzo, his heart beat faster than he ever knew and the thoughts that he thought were pure, innocent, and endearing.

So it was really rather much of a shock when his phone buzzed to life and an unknown number showed up. Well. It  _ could _ be a telemarketer or spam, or it could be  _ him. _ Deciding to take the risk, he answered, his heart beating fast against his chest, praying that it was Lore.

“....hey.”

He nearly fell over from joy. While his natural instinct was to scream and act like some sort of puppy, his mind and common sense ensured that he did not embarrass himself. Sitting up, he smirked, “Vargas, and here I thought you’d never call.”

_ “Oh shut up you dickweed,” _ his harsh voice spat. 

Antonio could taste the pride that he must have sucked up to call him. He took pleasure in it. Clicking his tongue, he brought his gaze to a loose strang on his shirt that he kept pulling at. He could hear his heartbeat, “Is this your way of saying you're interested?”

Silence. It brought him more anxiety than he thought possible. It rang in his ears with the sound of his blood as he nibbled at his lip in desperate hopes of that answer being the one he yearned to hear.

“I  _ guess _ .”

Score! Antonio stood up, walking to the window with the brightest of smiles on his face, “Well, when are you free?”

“After five every weekday. All day Saturday. I have church Sunday,” he said, his voice so straightforward and emotionless. Antonio was intrigued greatly. He had thought that there was only one side to Lorenzo for a while, but now he wanted to peel back those layers and see him as he really was. He wanted to see him smile and flirt just as before. In thinking about it, part of him wished he hadn’t told him who he was.

“Alright, how about I pick you up tomorrow at seven?” His face was burning bright red. Antonio could not believe it. Yes, he knew that this could have just been infatuation and that he did not bear any lasting feelings for him. Maybe he had done it again, fallen in love with the chase rather than the person. Perhaps, Antonio thought, he plucked his flower too soon once again.

There was a nervous shuffle from the other side before Lorenzo’s voice greeted his ears once again, “Seven sounds great. See you then. And you better not try to convert me into one of your fans,” he warned, hanging up right after.

Antonio was far too focused on the fact that he had an actual date to really care at all about anything else. He felt high. He was soaring above the highest clouds with wings so soft they brought envy to the angels’ minds. Oh, he was filled and pouring joy like he had never known before.

Opening his laptop, he got back to writing, suddenly, he had motivation.

* * *

 

_ They had always been enemies, they forever would be. Yet, meeting his gaze, Alfonso knew that as much as he was staring straight at his enemy, he was also staring straight at his breath and life. Nothing tore him apart more; nothing ever could. There no power on Earth that could ever tear his mind and sanity apart more than that moment of realizing he was deeply enamored; he wanted to love him and grow old with him. Those lips would meet his and their hearts would beat together. He loved his enemy. After years of loathing him, he yearned for his affection and touch. Simple conversations and understanding drove him to this cursed state of mind. _

_ As they sat in the leaky building, sword against sword, waiting for it to stop so that they may return to the battle, Alfonso felt every last piece of his shattered heart turn to dust. He loved Fernando. _

_ And he had to kill him. _

* * *

 

Antonio sat there, a nervous glint in his eyes. Was he allowed to make any physical contact? He didn’t know. The dinner was meant to be one to get to know each other, but neither said a word at all besides their order.

Though, in Antonio’s defense, he was entranced. That cocky little thing from the cafe appeared again, his hair combed back and suit crisp—probably expensive too—while his eyes looked at everything with a neutral gaze that left the man weak in the knees. He wanted to touch those shining wisps of hair and cup that olive face. No kisses, no sex, just affection. Sweet, wonderful affection that he’d soak into his skin like a warm bath or the sun’s rays in the evening.

It seemed absurd to consider the feeling to be love this soon, but he was considering it. In that moment when he sat down, as corny as it sounded, as much as it was like something out of a over-romanticized teen novella, Antonio felt the entire world fill up with colors and hues of bright light that he had never seen before. Elegant blues and royal purples surrounded his world, fingertips of gold, green, pink, and white bursting in and letting glory shine on this one face; this one enchanting face.

“Stop staring at me like that,” he said, almost not heard from how quiet he had been.

Blinking, he brought his attention back to Lore. His face was tinted pink, eyes flickering to be anywhere but where he could meet them. His arms were folded and that confident composure that had nearly intimidated him before seemed to be nothing in the moment. He was nervous, afraid, and very very flustered. He looked so small compared to the burning ball of passion and fire from before. It melted Antonio’s heart.

“Like what,” he asked, fixing his posture a bit and taking a sip of his water.

He hid his face in his hands, almost seeming to burn up, “Like  _ that _ . Like I’m some sort of dish. It’s weird as hell and this is our first date.” He got progressively quieter as he continued.

Antonio chuckled softly and shook his head, “I wasn’t trying to look at you like a dish. I am just a bit-a bit entranced is all.”

Lorenzo raised his brow, a skeptical look on his face. Scoffing, he sat up straight, still not meeting Antonio’s eyes, “Really? You’re not just trying to get in my pants to get a good review?”

“I’m asexual, Lorenzo,” he stated plainly, without a pause, without a doubt.

He fell silent.

“Asexual? Like what plants do?”

Antonio chuckled a bit, trying not to offend, “Ah, no. It’s the lack of sexual attraction to people. I still feel romantic attraction and want to date someone, but I don’t really care for sex. I mean, I’ve had it and if it happens, it happens, but it’s not necessarily what I think of when it comes to being in a relationship.”

Their conversation fell silent once again, though Antonio felt no concern this time as he was aware that it was a bit odd and even seemed made up to some.

“So you don’t like sex?”

“Not really.”

“Don’t want it.”

“Nope.”

“But like romance?”

“Mhm.”

Lorenzo nodded, taking in all of this new information that he surprisingly did not know about, “A bit to process, but alright. Anything else I need to know that might shock me?”

He was rather pleased by his reaction and not having gotten another ‘you just haven’t met the right person’ comment again. It wasn’t a big deal to him for the most part, but he greatly appreciated the understanding.

“I’m a writer,” he said jokingly.

Lorenzo’s eyes widened, “Oh wow! That is a shock!”

Putting a hand to his heart, Antonio gasped, “Ouch! That one hurt, Vargas.”

Rolling his eyes with a small chuckle, he began to dig into his food, “Well, next time learn to write a proper story and maybe I won’t burn everything you send me. I still don’t get how Gilbert loves your writing.”

“Wow, I thought this was a date, but I see it’s just a roast session,” he snickered, but then realized he had mentioned someone else, “Gilbert, who’s that?”

“Hm? Oh,” Lorenzo trailed off, avoiding his gaze for a moment, “He’s my roommate…”

Antonio’s face hardened a bit. That tone wasn’t very convincing; he didn’t like it, “You don’t sound so sure of that.”

His posture immediately straightened and his arms went over his chest, “It’s complicated.”

His expression went even darker at that moment. Those eyes full of light were now seeking an actual answer and the tension that filled the atmosphere was thick, “Complicated as in you’re sleeping with him or complicated as in…?”

He gasped, immediately cutting himself off and glaring at Antonio, “Is that what you assume? Because I make one comment on trying to get in my pants, I’m suddenly sleeping around?”

“Are you,” he asked, still a bit bitter.

Lorenzo growled, “No asshole, he’s staying with me because he’s disabled.”

Well. Asshole was correct. He quickly released from the tense position he had been in and covered his face, “Mierda. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume anything. What happened, if I may ask?”

Lorenzo relaxed a bit, swallowing the food he had in his mouth and wondering if he really wanted to explain it, “Photophobia and strabismus. He’s albino, so, yeah. He’s living with me because of it since his brother moved to Florida to live with his boyfriend. I help him get around and such. You might have seen him the other day. Uh, he really likes your books and praises you. I have no idea why. I think your writing is garbage, but he praises you, especially your book about the blind kid.”

He really didn’t know what to say. He knew that some of his books had been considered good representation for people, but for someone who felt represented to enjoy what he wrote, it was a different sort of compliment to him—not because it gave him points for having a token fan—but because it was more of a personal connection than he had seen before. 

“I’m glad he likes it, but may I ask, what is about my writing that you hate so much,” he asked, curious and really desperate for an answer at this point. Biting into his meal, he jerked his head gently to the side.

Lorenzo sighed and shrugged, “I don’t hate your writing, I just think people overhype you. You’re not God, you know. Yet, people treat you as such and other writers begging for love and attention end up ignored and washed away because of this pedestal people hold you up to,” he confessed, “And it’s stupid. But not as stupid as the fact that you egg them on. You let them hold you up so high and you don’t care how bad your pride and ambition get because all you want is all of the power in the world. You’ve built on empire on your skills, but I know you aren’t trying, idiot. I can see it when I read your crap. You don’t try and that’s why I refuse to give you a good review, dummy. Nothing is good enough for you and for some reason, you feel like if you aren’t better than everyone, then you failed. It’s so stupid.”

Though his words pierced through Antonio, he knew them to be true. If he attempted to deny such words, it would be denying who he was entirely. He knew what his pride did to him. He knew it was terrible. Yet, he did not care. At least, not until this moment. Hearing such words spill from Lorenzo as a person who was genuinely telling him what he thought rather than cruel emails or as a stranger. Suddenly he cared.

Suddenly, he was glad to be writing something that meant something to him. Nodding, he took a small sip of his wine, purposely intending to be dramatic, “Well, Mr. Vargas, I appreciate your feedback and will take that into mind.”

“Sure you will. You’re a stubborn ass,” he said with a playful roll of the eyes.

In all truth, Antonio did plan to take the advice. For once, he wanted to listen to someone besides himself. 

Though the evening carried on and the two chatted away lazily, that single thing kept itself in the back of Antonio’s mind. He was prideful, he knew it well. He was aware of what damage it could cause and sought to change that before it factored into something that damaged far more than he desired to see perish.

It was fascinating, truly. People before had told him time after time that his pride would be his downfall. Day after day Francis reminded him that he did not need to be the best to be talented. Yet, it took this small critic who hew personally knew for no more than thirty-six hours knocking him down a peg for him to realize that he had taken things too far.

Hell, he had destroyed his home because of a stupid thing such as reviews. While glory fit him well and looked ravishing upon him, mental health and stability looked better. 

“Lovino,” he said at the door when Antonio dropped him off, “Lovino is my name.”

_ Lovino _

Wait, his name meant “the wine”? That—what?

“Stupid, I know. My dad was bat-shit crazy. That’s why I go by Lorenzo.”

Then he was gone, like a breath. He hadn’t even realized it at first. He disappeared behind that faded yellow door into the faded peach home. But the one thing that he did keep in his mind were his words. Those words that opened his eyes so easily after others had struggles and stumbled to do so.

And as he looked back at Lorenzo’s door— this sweet, perfect, shining man—Antonio knew that he would do anything for him. Even if dating did not work out, he would fight for his love as a friend for all that he wanted in life was to be around him.

Suddenly, success did not matter anymore.

* * *

 

_ Alfonso charged first, all of the fear in the world shooting through him at that moment. As soon as he heard the sword pierce flesh, he cringed and refused to look. Fernando was still, broken words moving past his lips that quivered. _

_ “F-Fonso?” _

_ Alfonso finally opened his eyes and smiled weakly at his friend before drawing his eyes to the sword he had dropped and the one currently through his entire body. The pain didn’t come for a moment, but when it did, Alfonso let every tear fall as Fernando stared at him. _

_ “Fonso, please forgive me. Fonso!” _

_ Staring straight at him, his eyes moved to meet Fernando’s brown eyes that held all of the regrets in the world. Pressing two fingers to his lips, he weakly pressed them to Fernando’s, a cracked smile on his pale face. As the last tears fell from his eyes, he gathered all of his strength and leaned up as much as he could, hanging on with trembling hands as the world around him began to fade slowly. Gazing up, he could have sworn Fernando had a halo. _

_ “Until God sees fit.” _

* * *

 

Weeks passed which later turned into months and Antonio found himself absolutely in love with Lovino. Those forced frowns when he wanted to smile and his witty comments always lit up the writer’s day. At his feet, carnations bloomed and in his hands, Arbutus in his hands, and primrose on his tongue so that Lovino would be able to hold the words of adoration he said dear.

Though nobody, not even Gilbert, knew of their relationship, the two were content. Antonio would take Lovino dancing or for dinner, sometimes to a bookstore so that Lovino could buy things he actually  _ liked _ to read. Antonio would pepper kisses all over Lovino’s face and he would shove him away not wanting to get caught and photographed. However, in those rare times where Lovino would cup Antonio’s face and kiss him sweetly always lit up his soul.

So moments like now, where both were snuggled up against the other in Antonio’s apartment, kissing each other sweetly over and over, were rare and pure moments. 

Pressing a soft kiss to Lovino’s temple, Antonio beamed, “My new book goes on shelves tomorrow.”

Lovino, with his head buried in the crook of Antonio’s neck, groaned, “Baba, yo fucking suck at writing. I love you, but you suck. I think I’m the last person you want to review your book.”

“This one is different, I promise,” he said, still hugging him close.

Lovino rolled his eyes, “Sure it is. Fuck your bitch ass writing,” he said teasingly, “dating you doesn’t mean you are free from getting a proper critique from me.”

“I know, but at least I know it is out of love and not spite now,” Antonio chuckled squeezing him tight in his embrace. If it weren’t for that specific aromatic heaven of spices that Lovino was, he would have thought that the entire thing was nothing but a sweet heavenly dream.

“Will you at least come to the book signing at one of the stores with me,” he asked, finally, pushing those red-brown tufts of hair back, “Even if what I write isn’t what you like.”

Lovino moved from where he lay and met Antonio’s eyes with a soft smile, “As if I would miss that for the world, dork.”

Antonio laughed lightly, kissing him once again. How blessed he was to have such a wonderful boyfriend around.

“What’s it called anyway, nerd?” He pressed more soft kisses from his neck to his lips lovingly.

“Oleander Lips,” he replied, “There are some copies in the kitchen if you want to read one and tell me how much you hate it,” he laughed.

“I’ll make sure to take one and give you another bad review,” he stuck his tongue out at Antonio. Though, he shamelessly took the chance to initiate a fiery kiss which left the small critic blushing brightly. They both ended up breaking into laughter, far too amused with everything to really focus on anything.

“I look forward to it,” Antonio managed to say through chokes and snorts.

* * *

 

Lovino loved the book.

* * *

 

“Could you sign this for me? It’s not your new book, but it is the most awesome one that you’ve written in my opinion.”

“Ophelia? Of course,” he looked up, meeting dark sunglasses and a large hoodie. His first instinct was to assume emo, but he didn’t get that feeling from him. Yet, he did not know anyone else who would wear such hot clothes in the summer.

“Thank you so much! Make that out to Gilbert, please,” the man asked and then it clicked.

“You’re Lorenzo’s roommate, right?” He was careful about using his real name. He knew that his lovely boyfriend preferred to avoid the name in public situations, “He said you liked this book.”

Tilting his head, Gilbert screamed confusion. Clearly, he didn’t read all of the magazines that had broken out after Francis caught Antonio on the couch making out with Lovino. The news burst everywhere and people had come out from their holes admitting they had been hoping the two would get together. While upset at first, Lovino eventually ignored it and reminded everyone that no matter how close to a person he was, his job as a critic would always run on honesty and never bias.

It had gone everywhere and everyone knew about it. It was all that he was asked about when it came to his book signings.

“Yes. Did he actually end up going on a date with you,” he asked, a bit of amusement in his voice.

Antonio chuckled. Alright, so he clearly didn’t know of the situation, that was okay, “Quite a few actually. Especially since we’re dating.”

Gilbert nearly dropped the book as he grabbed it, “No way? He scored! Dammit, now I owe the little twink even more coffee.”

Of course he made a bet out of it. Laughing lightly, he pushed his hair back, “Yeah, I would have thought you’d have heard after my friend Francis leaked some pictures of us kissing. It blasted everywhere.”

The albino made a small ‘o’ shape with his mouth, nodding his head as a nervous laugh broke past his lips, “I’m afraid I don’t usually go out much, especially with it being summer. And computers hurt my eyes if I look at them too much so I don’t usually go on them a lot. I’m pretty dumb to all the new social crap.”

Antonio nodded understandingly, “I forgot. Lore told me about your vision problems. Don’t blame you. I’m a bit glad you didn’t see that explosion, the internet has been going crazy since then.”

“It killed a lot of your popularity too, huh?”

That was also a sad truth. Many people began to feel as if the entire thing had been a show put on to get Antonio more support. It didn’t help that people didn’t exactly like his new book either. It was called trash by those who once had praised him like a god. Slowly, the pillars of his empire crumbled and his kingdom fell to the ground. And considering that Lovino hadn’t even told him how he felt about his book, he assumed he had once again failed.

It was okay though. He had known all along that his empire would have to fall one day. While he hadn’t imagined it like this, he was glad to have had it while it lasted. He wouldn’t stop writing; he still had a million tales all his own to tell.

“Yeah, but so did this new book. It’s alright I suppose. No empire lasts forever,” he gave a soft hum and began to pick up his books. It was late and nobody else seemed to be walking in the door.

“In all honesty man,” Gilbert started, clutching his book close, “I think that one is my second favorite because I can feel the sincerity of it being you. Yeah, people are pissed you didn’t let the gay couple have a happy ending, but it was never a romance in the first place.”

Antonio smiled a bit and looked at Gilbert. Smart. He liked him, “Yeah. It was a book about pain and realizing things too late. Alfonso didn’t just realize he loved Fernando, he realized he hated fighting, he realized he wanted to be a kid again, and he realized he had been a jerk to all of his friends and anyone who had ever cared for him. It was a downfall.”

Gilbert grinned toothily, “And I liked that.”

Antonio smiled softly, “Thank you.”

As he grabbed his bag, he thought about Gilbert. The man had most likely walked or taken the bus. He also knew that Lovino caught up at work since he had called and told him he had to cancel on their lunch date.

“Hey Gilbert, do you want to come with me? My friend Francis and I are going to make chocolate filled croissants. We’ve got more than plenty dough to spare,” he offered.

He perked up, confused in all truth, but interested, “Really? Are you sure? You know you don’t have to do this. I’m fine being home alone.”

“Bull. Come on, we might even play some Uno or Monopoly. It’ll be fun and Lovi-Lorenzo will probably end up coming over too once he’s out.”

There was a bit more hesitance.

“Really man. I don’t want to be a burden. You don’t have to,” he laughed slightly, the confident image quickly collapsing.

“You’re ‘Renzo’s closest friend, that makes you a friend of mine. Come on, let’s go. If we get there early enough, we can sneak some chocolate,” he jerked his head to his head to the general direction of his car.

Breaking out into a small smile, Gilbert nodded and followed along, the entire feeling of hanging out with his favorite author feeling so surreal.

As for Antonio, he accepted that his empire came crumbling. He recognized that he would never return back to where he had been, but at this point, he didn’t really care if he did at all. He had Lovino, perfect Lovino. Then there was Francis, supportive and wonderful.

And now, there was Gilbert. Someone else to open his arms wide for.

No, he didn’t care much for his fame anymore, he liked happiness much more.

* * *

 

_ I have a reputation for trashing Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo. I have a cruel reputation of humiliating him for the sole reason of not liking what he wrote. That is the truth. There was never an intention of helping him seek fame. In fact, before having met him in person, I would have never considered such a thing. I loathed him. Still, I treated him like anyone I critiqued and I critiqued without bias or ulterior motives. _

_ And now, as I write this review and break the one promise I made a long time ago, I wish for everyone to know that being involved with Fernandez does not change the professionality or way that I judged his work,  _ **_Oleander Lips_ ** _.  _

_ I promised myself that I would never give Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo a positive review. His writing left me numb and never pleased me. I was sure that would never change. However, I was wrong. Part of that may have to do with his self-discovery and realization that his once towering kingdom did not matter or dictate him or his writing. After five years, I am giving Fernandez a positive review. _

**_Oleander Lips_ ** _ did not catch my attention at first. I found it’s description cliche and it’s plot boring. I was worried that my partner was not as talented as he had come off to those who praised him before. But as I read it, I was blown away by a world I never knew. _

_ This book stunned me and left me staring at him long after he had fallen asleep on the couch wondering and questioning every choice I made for that was exactly what Alfonso did. He captured a lesson that was terrifying and perhaps that was what drove the general public away. _

_ There is no greater punishment than the epiphany of one’s mistakes when the clock has struck its final hour. _

_ That was what I adored. Though the ending was a bit frustrating as a gay man looking for a book where the gay couple lives happily, it occured to me that Fernando was never confirmed to hold the same feelings. He treated Alfonso as a brother and that brought even more pain to my heart as I read. Somehow, these cliche tropes were taken and turned into something new because, in reality, it was never about Fernando and Alfonso. It was Alfonso. _

_ The entire story is the sad tale of a man who realizes his mistakes when it is much too late to fix them and carries that with him on the battlefield where he is finally killed by the friend he adored and loved so much. _

_ So while the general public finds Fernandez to be washed out, irrelevant, and no longer interesting, I find it to be the contrary. I think that he has finally found his voice. Though the people may not like it for it no longer is brainwashed to write what the people demand, I admire it for it speaks his mind and allows his emotions to flow like he did those years in ago in  _ **_To Make A Serial Killer_ ** _.  _

_ He has found who he is. While many ridicule him for it, I believe he deserves support for it. After all, a writer has learned to love what he does again. In my eyes, that is far more important than popularity. _

* * *

 

Antonio sat there, holding Lovino in his arms as they listened to the rain pour and read over the reviews he had gotten on his book. Many were bad. People did not like the ending with Alfonso dying. Others defended him reminding others that they are in the middle of war and romance won’t change that. Either way, Antonio didn’t care much anymore. Though, his friends didn’t believe him much, especially his boyfriend.

“Are you sure you’re not upset about your empire falling,” he had asked once.

They had been sitting at the same cafe that they had met at. Antonio sipped at his espresso without concern and Lovino sat there, wondering if he truly was okay after the backlash he had gotten from  _ Oleander Lips _ .

Antonio simply smiled at him, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“What do I need an empire for when I have the entire world right in front of me?”


End file.
